


break the bad luck in my life

by seaworn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aurors, Bantering, Blowjobs, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Christmas Smut, M/M, Pining Draco Malfoy, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Smut, Top Harry Potter, Wall Sex, this isn't at all christmassy i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 05:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17554556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaworn/pseuds/seaworn
Summary: “Let’s have dinner."“I  - what?”“I know a decent Muggle pub that serves adequate food, and it’s very private," Potter said." ’Decent’. ’Adequate’. You really know how to sell it, don’t you?”“Phenomenal company,” he offered.**Draco and Harry are both brooding on Christmas Eve.





	break the bad luck in my life

**Author's Note:**

> Chinese translation available [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287871) by [Ceciliaaaaaaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceciliaaaaaaa/pseuds/Ceciliaaaaaaa)!

Draco _hated_ winter, that was for sure. No matter how many protective spells he did, how many products he used, his hair always became a wet, shaggy mess when it was faced with simple snowflakes.

 

With an angry huff, he untangled his scarf from his neck and shivered when cold drops of water slipped down his neck. This was the _last_ time he’d ever wear his hair down, it would be strictly ponytails from now on.

 

Draco’s shoes squealed as he made his way down the hall. The empty building with its shocking silence gave him the creeps, but it was a hell lot of a better option than the empty building at home, so he tried to ignore the goosebumps travelling down his back. Protective spells and wards around him hummed silently - or was it just Draco’s head? - and  there was a thickness in the air, the kind that sometimes made him want to go outside and breathe in fresh air. Draco supposed that was why he felt so comfortable living in his current home - a modest Muggle apartment. There was no distracting magic sleeping in the walls. Draco suspected he’d become a little over-sensitive to that after living at the Manor - with hundreds of years of protective wards and spells all around the premises - during the war, the place swarming with Death Eaters. Also, Mother and Father detested Draco’s current apartment so that was a bonus.

 

He’d obviously made some changes in the place, like gotten himself a Floo network and put up a few, very light protective spells. He _was_ a wizard, after all.

 

He reached the Auror Department and, with a flick of his wand, opened the doors, and with another snap of his wrist and a murmur, turned on the small light on his desk at the end of the room close to the window. It was dark outside, but Draco could still see it was snowing. He hoped the worst of it would be over once he was finished.

 

Draco took off his wet jacket and rested it on the back of someone else’s chair. He sat down on his desk and opened his locked drawers one by one, frowning at the papers there. He didn’t know where to begin, really. He had nothing pressing to work on - it had been a quiet December on his part, not having gotten any interesting cases. As per _fucking_ usual.

 

With a sigh, Draco decided to finish a few boring reports simply that he could get rid of the papers cluttering his drawers. He didn’t get a work flow - on the contrary, he was painfully aware of how slowly time went by. But it was comforting to think that, at some point, this day would be over.

 

Through his frowning and scowling, Draco heard someone walking down the hall towards the office, and for a second  he thought it was security, coming to tell him he couldn’t be here tonight, and Draco took a few seconds to mask his face in utter annoyance. There was no rule he couldn’t be here.

 

But then he _recognised_ the tempo of those steps - and instantly hated himself for it.

 

Potter banged the doors open like he always did, with careless abandon. Draco had noticed that most of the time Potter wasn’t actually in a bad mood, he just....Banged doors and cupboard doors without meaning to, just like he placed down his tea mug just a tad too forcefully. There were permanent dents on the pillars behind the doors from Potter’s rough treatment.

 

But Potter _was_ in a bad mood now. His steps were brisk and eyes hard. He was clenching his jaw and he didn’t notice Draco at first, despite the light on Draco’s desk in the otherwise barely lit room. When he did, though, not a muscle on his face moved like nothing this day could bring would surprise him.

 

“Malfoy,” he said in acknowledgment. ”What are you doing here?”

 

Draco pointed at the paperwork in front of him with a nod. “Working.”

 

“On Christmas Eve?” One eyebrow rose, slowly.

 

“A day as good as any,” Draco shrugged a shoulder, but placed down his quill to observe Potter, who messily threw his jacket onto his table. He wasn’t wearing his Auror gear and he looked relatively clean so he probably wasn’t coming here from a work mission like he sometimes did, covered in dirt and blood.  Instead he had on jeans with a pair of boots and a jumper with a white-collared shirt peeking underneath. It all made him look...Casual. He was rarely ever casual in a work environment. Not that Draco knew him in any other.

 

His hair was like it always was these days - on a messy bun on top of his head. Draco had hated Potter’s wild, unruly hair even back at Hogwarts, but now it was _worse_ \- the curly, dark mess was a lot longer and Potter didn’t seem to even care. He’d look much more professional if he would just use even half a minute trying to tame the hair into a clean bun, but whatever. Draco didn’t care. Honestly.  

 

Potter leaned his hip against a table and crossed his hands over his chest and one ankle over his other leg. That made Draco notice the wand holster on his thigh. Potter wore the holsters more often than not (probably because he liked to have his hands free, and he didn’t actually _need_ the wand, some of the time. God, Draco fucking hated him), and it never failed to make Draco’s legs weak, because the leather tied around his thigh just made Draco focus on just how muscular his thighs were, how fitting the jeans he wore were.

 

Potter was _nothing_ like he’d been as a teenager. Back then, he’d been a gangly, awkward, hollow-cheeked menace and an absolute mess in every possible way. (It gave Draco hope, too, that he resembled nothing like his 17-year-old self.)

 

Now, Potter was tall, even taller than Draco, and muscular _all. over._ His stomach - Draco hated himself for noticing all this, by the way - was lean and one could almost see his tight abdomen through the shirt and the vee of his hips, even though he didn’t even wear clothes that tight. His arms -  his biceps and sculpted forearms,  veins easy to spot. Potter rarely wore his sleeves up, only when he was frustrated with a case, when he’d discarded his robes, revealing a white collared shirt (or if Draco was really lucky, a t-shirt) underneath, haphazardly shoving the sleeves up. Draco _lived_ for those moments, only because Potter was excruciatingly hot when he got short and snappy with someone who usually deserved it.

 

“No,” Potter said slowly, tilting his head in bemusement.

 

Draco’s eyes snapped up to Potter’s face and he let out a slow, controlled breath. He felt a little flustered under Potter’s scrutiny. He always secretly hoped that Potter would pay attention to him, notice him. But every time he as much as glanced at Draco’s way, Draco instantly felt...Awkward. Like he didn’t know whether to blush furiously or hex him. He did neither, of course.  

 

“What are _you_ doing here, then?” Draco asked and whirled his chair a little further away from his desk. Potter dropped Draco’s gaze and walked around his desk, muttering a quiet charm, lighting the candle on his desk absently. Draco’s stomach lurched with arousal. Fucking Potter.

 

For a few beats, Potter didn’t say anything. It was though he’d forgotten Draco’s existence. He was looking at his desk and tutting at himself at the sight of it - papers scattered on top of it with empty tea cups placed here and there. It was nothing like Draco’s desk that never had even a pen out of place. Draco had often wondered that Potter’s desk had to violate every single confidentiality rule they had, surely. No one seemed to care except for Draco.

 

“Did you know,” Potter said slowly, not lifting his eyes to Draco. He was organising his desk - or really, just swifting the papers around with a vague look of annoyance on his face -  but Draco saw his head wasn’t in it.. “- that Ron and Hermione are having a baby?”

 

Draco’s brows furrowed. Since when did they share information about their personal lives? He almost asked that, but resisted at the last second - Potter’s flat, monotonic tone made Draco want to listen. “No?”

 

Potter nodded and cracked a small smile. He squinted at something he’d written on a piece of parchment and brought the paper closer to his face, then promptly crumpled and vanished it with a wave of his hand. “Yeah. And Luna and Neville got married a few weeks ago - can you believe that?”

 

Draco blinked and resisted the urge to shrug excessively. He _could_ believe that, quite easily - that’s what people _did_ \- get married, have children, buy houses - especially family-oriented, romantic, mushy, boring Gryffindors - but a part of him didn’t want to break the spell that was making Potter talk to him like this.

 

“That’s great?” He said, tone rising just enough to sound like a careful question.

 

“Isn’t it just?” Potter said, cracking a small smile to Draco, this time lifting his face to meet his face, but his eyes were weary.

 

This whole situation was absurd. They were both here on Christmas Eve with clearly something on their minds. Of course Draco Malfoy would run into a brooding  Harry Potter. Potter, who was making Draco take part in weird conversations and looked like he was annoyed with the whole world.

 

When Potter didn’t give any continuation on the subject, Draco awkwardly turned to his work and shuffled the papers in front of him, hoping Potter would do the same if he’d planned to come here to actually work.

 

For a few moments there was blissful silence. Draco only heard Potter rustling papers and moving things on his desk around. Draco managed to gather his thoughts enough to return to finishing his report on some menial theft case he’d taken part in last week. ‘Taken part’ was a broad expression. He’d looked up a few addresses for the rest of his team, and that was it. He wasn’t a bloody secretary but sometimes felt like one.

 

“I wonder if I could get coffee here,” Potter muttered, breaking the silence. Draco wasn’t sure whether he was talking to him and opted for staying quiet, pretending he hadn’t heard.

 

Potter shuffled on his feet and ran a hand through his hair. Draco’s jaw clenched.

 

“Not unless you make it yourself,” he snapped, anyway. Potter only sighed, forlorn. What, had he expected Draco to make it for him?

 

The silence returned, and Draco was irked. He felt awkward with Potter hovering nearby, sighing and clearly trying to find something to focus on but not succeeding. Potter should just _leave_ and give Draco peace if he didn’t intend to do anything productive.

 

“You know,” Potter said, breaking the silence again.   “I’ve been thinking about quitting my job.”

 

 _That_ made Draco’s head shoot up so quickly something snapped in his neck. He pushed himself up from his seat and took a step towards Potter before he even realised what he’d done. “ _What?_ Potter, why would you do that?” He asked, not even bothering to cover the shock in his voice.  “You’re the most-”

 

Potter’s dirty, defiant look made him swallow the end of that sentence. Potter’s green eyes flashing in a way that made Draco immediately knew that this was not the first, or the second, or even the _tenth_ time he’d gotten that reaction.

 

“I mean,” Draco backpedalled. “Why? You’re good at your job. Half a dozen of us graduated, what, about two years ago? You're the only one who's got promoted in that time. And you like it here,” he said and then hesitated. “Don't you?”

 

The look Potter gave him could only be described as dry. Dry as a fucking desert.

 

“I know I shouldn’t look at the gift horse in the mouth,” Potter said. He shuffled through his papers with a sigh. “But I don’t know whether my _success_ ” - Potter twisted his mouth around the word like it had a bad taste -”is because I’m good at my job or whether it’s just because of - me. My history.”

 

He didn’t need to elaborate that to Draco. That _had_ been a fleeting thought in Draco’s mind for a moment or two in the past - that he was climbing the ladder with his reputation and the fact that The Ministry simply adored having Harry Potter working for them. But he’d quickly swallowed those ugly emotions when he’d realised just how good Potter was at this job. It wasn’t inhumanly good deduction or duelling skills that made someone a good Auror - it was how they acted in crisis situations, how calm they kept their head, how composed and concentrated they managed to remain when it all went to hell.

 

And the best part of it (or the worst, really), was how it seemed like Potter was barely aware of his effect. It wasn’t lost on anyone else in the Ministry why Potter’s team seemed to always crack even the toughest cases, how Potter managed to make an Auror out of any of the fuck ups that were sent specifically to Potter’s team for a ‘learning experience’.

 

Anyone could learn how to boss people around, but Potter earned everyone’s respect by simply having an aura of a natural leader around him. And being fucking scary when he got pissed.

 

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Draco said, honest.

 

Potter lifted his gaze and lifted an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t be talking to your superiors like that.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re not _my_ boss, Potter.”

 

“But I am _a_ boss.”

 

“So?” Draco said. He didn’t know what to do with himself now that he was on his feet so he simply leaned the backs of his thighs on the edge of the desk and crossed his hands on his chest, mirroring Potter’s earlier pose. “Look,” he said, “are you having an identity crisis or something? Everyone else is getting married and going on with their lives while you’re just - you? Because let me tell you, Potter, that’s _completely_ normal for a Christmas Eve. It’s part of the holiday spirit.” His response was dry and clipped because Potter was full of _shit_ and he was acting stupider than he actually was - an achievement, really. Draco hated to admit this, but he knew Potter enough to know that he was brooding, melancholic and pessimistic when the mood got to him. Don’t ask him where he’d gotten that impression, though - they’d barely talked after Hogwarts, and those school years had hardly been a walk in the park, either.

 

“Is that why you’re here?” Potter asked him and took a leisurely walk towards Draco, making him instantly nervous.

 

“As I said,” Draco said, slow and purposeful , “I’m _working_. Unlike some people.”

 

Potter gave him an unimpressed look - a long look, up and down Draco’s frame, that left fire in its wake, _fuck_ \- and walked around Draco’s desk.

 

“That’s classified information,” Draco snapped when he realised Potter was shamelessly ogling Draco’s papers.

 

“Then you shouldn’t leave it lying around, hmm?” Potter said, already looking at Draco’s papers. Draco snatched the topmost piece of paper and shut another notebook with a flick of his wand. Potter wasn’t ruffled. “What’s so pressing that it needs your attention on Christmas Eve?”

 

Draco felt like he couldn’t make his annoyance visible enough by hiding his papers with his wand, so he reached over and snapped notebooks shut with his hand, forcefully.

 

Potter didn’t look bothered by it, eyes still scanning whatever was left on Draco’s desk. “ ‘Bullet journal’?”

 

“Personal time management,” Draco spat, covering the pages of the notebook with his palm. “Wouldn’t expect you to understand anything about it, you philistine.”

 

Potter barked a laugh and only then Draco noticed how close they were. Draco had practically thrown himself on his desk, covering as much as he could with his palms spread out, having wedged himself between Potter and the desk. Oh, this is what he _hated_  - how Potter could, forever and ever, get a rise out of him in a matter of seconds, making Draco forget he should be the bigger person in the room. Potter was partly behind him, his left shoulder touching Draco’s right shoulder blade.

 

Instantly flustered, Draco stepped back and ran his fingers through his hair, averting Potter’s gaze he saw was intently on him. “Fine, whatever,” he said, put out.  “My parents are in sunny Sicily at the moment and we haven’t spent a Christmas together since they moved to France, three years ago. Oh, don’t give me that _look_ , Potter, it’s all good. I’d just rather do something more useful than sit at home.”

 

Draco took another step back - for emotional distance more than anything else - and bristled. “And you can stop feeling sorry for yourself right this moment, Potter, because you’ve got a family - a horde of Weasleys and a bunch of other Gryffindors - who all adore you, so _stop_ being moody simply because you don’t have a, what, girlfriend? A marriage? A house? You’re a fool if you think you’re not gonna get everything you want in life.” Draco didn’t have to be friends with Potter to know all this. He knew Potter was still insanely close to Weasley and Granger - they both popped in for a visit a few times a week, demanding Potter’s company for lunch and reminding him of other gatherings.

 

Finally, Potter looked amused. He smiled and Draco saw dimples form on his cheeks. His heart skipped a beat - a small, insignificant beat, he told himself - because it was not once or twice he’d fixated on those dimples.

 

“Let’s have dinner,” Potter said, and that was _not_ what Draco had expected. He’d imagined teasing, pulling pigtails, getting called out for losing his temper. Not _that_.

 

“I  - what?” 

 

“I know a decent Muggle pub that serves adequate food, and it’s very private”, Potter said.

 

Draco was sure Potter had lost his mind - was he perhaps drunk? - but a part of him was screaming _yesyesyes._

 

He took a deep breath not to seem too eager and pathetic. “ ’Decent’. ’Adequate’. You really do know how to sell it, don’t you?”

 

“Phenomenal company,” Potter offered and Draco wanted to smack him. “Since when do we even talk?” He asked instead, frustrated.

 

“Since now?”

 

“But _why_?”

 

“Because it’s Christmas Eve and you’re doodling god knows what in your notebook and I decided I’m not gonna get any work done, anyway. Plus, I’m hungry”, he explained carefully, already putting on his jacket - an ugly leather jacket that was worn out and far too big on him despite his wide shoulders.

 

“It’s not doodling,” Draco argued, weakly.

 

“Come on,” Potter said. “Later you can think back, ‘huh, remember that shitty Christmas when I had dinner with Harry Potter? At least things aren’t that bad _now_.’”  

 

Draco let out a surprised breath of laughter before he could stop himself. This was crazy, wasn’t it? In what universe did Harry Potter ask Draco Malfoy for a meal on Christmas?

 

In this universe, apparently. Because that was just how big of a joke his life was. _Oh, fine, let’s give Malfoy what he daydreams about - a dinner with_ Potter _! -  but let’s make it a backhanded insult_ , Draco thought. _He doesn’t want your company - he just prefers it to being alone._

 

Such praise on Draco.

 

“Fine. Why not?” He heard himself saying. “It’s not like this day can get any _worse_ ,” Draco said, sounding like he shared Potter’s sentiment.

 

Potter just grinned, unaware of Draco’s internal crisis.

 

Draco purposely took his time putting everything away on his desk and putting on his jacket. Potter, to Draco’s annoyance, didn’t seem to mind the wait.  They walked side by side to the Floo point and Draco pursed his mouth, unconvinced, at the name of the restaurant Potter gave him, but followed him without hesitation anyway.

 

To Draco’s dismay, the restaurant was quite a walk from the nearest Floo point, somewhere in the heart of Muggle London. Draco wondered how Potter had even stumbled into the place. Was it similar to when Draco had walked aimlessly around the city, lost (both figuratively and literally), hoping that a day long walk would give him answers on basically _anything_ because _everything_ had been a mess back then, until he’d accidentally walked to a sign that said, ‘apartments for rent’?

 

It turned out that Potter was a good companion, and he wasn’t in such a bad mood anymore. Draco had expected awkward silences and both of them realising that they were crazy and, actually, hated each other, but Potter kept the conversation going while they walked. He described the menu to him and said which foods to avoid (not really a sign of a decent restaurant, was it?), told Draco about his latest case at work and how he was planning on restoring Grimmauld Place at some point - it was far too gloomy in its current state. Draco listened, mostly quiet, wondering when had he earned the right to listen stories about Potter’s personal life. They certainly weren’t friends. They were barely colleagues. Sure - they met each other every day, but Potter had is own team and Draco was part of another. Potter always seemed too busy to even notice Draco’s existence when he was dashing through the halls with whatever important he had going on. Sometimes they met by the coffee machine but they never exchanged words.

 

Once, Potter had greeted him with a curt nod and said _“Malfoy”_ in acknowledgement. He’d then opened his mouth to say something else, with a quizzical look on his face, when his colleague (Stevens, the absolute _suck-up_ who seemed to find Potter wherever he was hiding) had burst in, apologising for interrupting - but not without sending Draco a dirty look - and Potter had left with him. To this day, not knowing what Potter had been about to say haunted Draco.

 

“Here we are,” Potter finally said, rousing Draco from his musings. The restaurant was just what Draco had expected; the front of it looked insignificant and uninviting, and the insides weren’t any better. It truly was a Muggle pub with dark, worn out wood decorating every surface of it. It smelled of smoke and grease and no one would ever think a wizard would set a foot in here.

 

That was probably why Potter had come here in the first place, Draco thought. It’s been years since the war and The Daily Prophet and other substandard papers still made articles about Potter doing normal, mundane things like having a pint with his friends. He would surely love the chance to have dinner in peace and not end up on the pages of trashy papers after being seen - Draco’s back straightened at the direction of his own thoughts  - with an ex-Death Eater?

 

Potter didn’t look like he was ashamed of being with Draco but then again, there were almost no people in the pub besides them. Inwardly, Draco scoffed at himself when he felt his cheeks heat as Potter led him to a table in the far corner of the pub with his palm touching Draco’s shoulder.

 

Potter shrugged off his coat and ran a hand through his hair, shaking off the snow gathered there, not caring that it made his bun look even messier.  Draco tried not to stare.

 

They ordered food. Draco detested traditional Christmas foods, so he was pleased to find out  the place wasn’t serving any. He would’ve suffered through a plate of Christmas food without complaints, but Potter didn’t need to know that. He ordered a mushroom pie and a gin & tonic while Potter got chicken wings and a big pint of beer. Potter didn’t even have to think about his own order.

 

The waiter who barely made eye contact with either of them brought them the drinks while they waited for the foods. Draco instantly brought his glass to his lips, hoping he could hide some of the awkwardness he was feeling behind it.

 

Potter opened his mouth, quizzical look on his face. Draco interrupted him even before he’d formed the question.

 

“Can we _please_ talk about anything else than the fact why we’re both here tonight?” He asked. He suspected Potter was here because he felt like he wasn’t invited to his friends’, and Potter knew Draco was here because his parents were in Sicily (and didn’t have anyone else to spend time, really), but they weren’t real reasons, not really. Draco could have booked a Portkey to his visit Mother and Father, and he was one hundred percent sure that there was an open invitation for Potter to join Weasley and Granger any time.

 

Potter seemed to consider Draco for a bit, then dropped his gaze. “Fine. Let me ask you one thing, though,” he said and rested his elbows on the table, leaning closer to Draco. “Where do you live? I read in the papers a long time ago that The Manor is empty.”

 

Draco nodded, a little wary. He hoped Potter wouldn’t pry too much. He was not in the mood for explaining his life decisions, not tonight.  “When Mother and Father moved out, I found myself an apartment. The Manor was my home, but it felt too weird to live there by myself so I moved out,” he explained. “It still legally belongs to Malfoys - it _is_ a family house, after all - and house elves take care of it. I go there every now and then to check up on it.”

 

Potter nodded, seeming to consider Draco’s words.  “Where do you live now, then?”

 

Draco gave him a lopsided smile. “In Muggle London.”

 

Potter’s eyes widened comically. “Really?”

 

“You find that funny, don’t you?”

 

Potter grinned. “A little. It’s a bit - “

 

“Ironic?” Draco supplied.  “I know. But I’d like to think that it tells me that I’m not the same person I was as a child.”

 

To that, Potter’s grin morphed into something more - gentle?  He dropped the subject, for which Draco was grateful.

 

After that, Draco relaxed a little, determined to make most of the evening. The food was surprisingly passable and the waitress replaced their empty glasses with new drinks at the wave of Potter’s hand. They mostly talked (argued) about Quidditch, because _obviously_ they cheered for the different teams and had different preferences on everything - brooms, technique, coaching methods. And all right - while Draco liked Quidditch, he wasn’t fanatic about it. He argued a little more than he actually cared just to see Potter get riled up. He’d rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and he was constantly, constantly using his hands as he was explaining The Chudley Cannons’ defence technique to Draco (who pretended not to understand his point of view). He leaned in closer every now and then, huffing in frustration, and Draco found it all excruciatingly hot.

 

Draco found himself hoping the evening wouldn’t end. It was a sad realisation, but he still took smaller sips of his drink -his third one -  to make it look like he wasn’t finished. They’d finished eating ages ago. Potter’s own beer - warm and icky by now - sat on the table untouched.

 

That was, until Potter took it and dunked the rest of it into his mouth, then banged the glass back on the table, as if to say, _‘well?’_

 

Trying not to show his disappointment, Draco finished his own drink and they put on their coats. Draco’s coat and scarf were dry again and he didn’t think they’d been there so long that they would’ve had the time to dry this thoroughly. He gave Potter a suspicious glance, but Potter pointedly didn’t look at him. Potter threw a bunch of bills on the table before Draco had a chance to protest.

 

Outside, it was snowing still. The street was empty except for them. Potter fished something from his pocket and cupped his palms around his mouth, turning away from the wind.

 

A cigarette, then.

 

Potter took a long drag, kept his breath inside him for two, three, four seconds before blowing out the smoke. He then offered the cigarette to Draco who declined, too stunned at the sight of Potter to do anything.

 

It was unnatural to see him smoke. Maybe some of the Saint Potter mentality most of England seemed to harbour was rubbing off on Draco, but he was supposed to look, well, untouched. The thought of Harry Potter, the wizard who’d defeated the Dark Lord and proceeded to save the whole world, dying prematurely because of cigarettes was absurd. It just _shouldn’t_ happen. Potter had probably been told to quit smoking a dozen of times.

Maybe that was why Potter didn’t seem to give a fuck.

Now that Draco thought of it - he’d rarely ever seen Potter do anything...Human. Maybe it was deliberate because of his position at work - he almost never ate or expressed any kind of need in the presence of other people, except demand for coffee in the middle of a sentence. ‘We’re sticking to the initial plan, Stevens - I won’t compromise it. If, _if_ \- a coffee for me, would someone, thanks, black - everything goes to hell, well, then we’ll go with plan B. If we fuck that up too, then we’ll do what you suggested.’

Draco wondered what it meant that Potter was there standing, smoking with bleary eyes, in front of him, not giving two fucks about his appearance.  Or whether it meant anything.

Draco shivered when a violent gust of wind blew against his face.

“Cold?” Potter asked, and Draco shrugged a shoulder. He felt frustrated and couldn’t decide whether standing in the cold December night with Potter outside some shady pub was awful or the best thing that had happened to him all year.

 

Potter dropped his cigarette stub and stepped on in, then walked closer to Draco. He had a glint in his eyes.

 

“Need me to warm you up?” He asked, voice much lower - a little similar to when he was displeased at someone at work, the way he tried to contain his fury and not yell by talking slower, lower. Like the rumble of thunder somewhere in the distance, before the storm.

 

Potter wasn’t angry now.

 

Draco managed to lift one questioning brow and lift his chin a little instead of taking the shaky breath he desperately wanted. Potter stepped closer, then leaned forward and Draco, with blinding clarity, was sure that Potter was going to kiss him. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Potter, who was watching Draco with a look he couldn’t decipher.

 

Draco could feel the warmth of Potter’s breath on his skin. Potter leaned towards Draco’s ear, then murmured something. Draco was about to ask him to clarify, but then he felt warmth surround him, toes and fingertips tingling. Realisation washed over Draco in humiliation. Warming charm. Wandless. The fucking pompous _prick_.

 

“Show-off,” Draco said, deflated. His face was probably red in embarrassment, but he hoped Potter thought it was just from the charm.

 

Potter only smirked and stepped back, clearly seeing through Draco’s attempts at appearing aloof.

 

“Well,” Draco said. He was irritated now. Potter was clearly just making fun of him. Draco felt stupid and wrong-footed. What the hell had he been thinking, anyway?  “While this wasn’t as excruciating as I’d feared, I think I better get g-”

“Would it be terribly pitiful,” Potter interrupted him. He glanced at his feet  before closing the distance between them again. “- If I asked you to come home with me?”

Draco’s heart jumped immediately to his throat and he wanted to curse his body for having such a blatant reaction to Potter’s words. Whatever he did, no matter how well he lied to himself, his body always exposed his real feelings. He couldn’t lie to himself, anymore; a part of him (and not so small, either) had hoped, wished, _wanted_ Potter to want - something. Anything. And the fact that Potter was only here because Draco had just happened to be at the Ministry when he was going through some issues did nothing to Draco’s feelings. He was going to say yes - of course he was.

“Depends. Are you asking because you’re lonely or do you actually want -  my company?” Draco asked when he decided his voice was stable enough. He didn’t ask, _do you want me?_

“Can’t it be both?” Potter asked and gave Draco a look. It was somewhere between _'are you really going to decline?’_ and _'please don’t say no’._

“I suppose,” Draco said. That wasn’t the answer he’d hoped, but it was his own fault for asking. Then shook his head. “And I don’t really care, now that I think of it.”

Potter cracked a lopsided smile. “No?” He said, stepping into Draco’s space.

“No,” Draco confirmed.

 

“Shall we, then?” He extended his arm to Draco. Tentatively - not because he was second-guessing his decision, but because holding Potter’s hand seemed too intimate - Draco took his hand, and they disappeared from the street on that second. Draco should probably be in hysterics about practising that sort of magic in Muggle London - they were Aurors, for Merlin’s sake! - but, in all honesty? He couldn’t give a _fuck._

 

***

 

“If you were willing to Apparate the whole time,” Draco complained after the queasy feeling he always got after Apparating left,  “why did we have to walk to the restaurant? It’s bloody freezing outside.”

 

He stepped back and looked around. They were in Potter’s living room, and Draco supposed this was Grimmauld Place because he recognised the horrid portraits on the wall Potter had described to him earlier. It wasn’t as bad as Draco had thought - there were soft-looking armchairs, blankets, books and a big, colourful carpet in the room, making up for the harsh materials used in the walls and door frames.

 

Potter laughed softly and walked around the room, lighting a few desk lamps and then lit the fireplace, as well. Draco’s stomach lurched because the romantic aspect associated to fireplaces wasn’t lost on him.

 

Then Potter turned to Draco, looking a little bashful. He unclasped the wand holster on his thigh and put on the coffee table along with his wand. “I wanted to spend some extra minutes with you. Walking seemed like a good idea.  Also it’s pretty much illegal to Apparate in Muggle London.”

 

Draco was amused. “And now? We Apparated back here.”

 

“Well, now I’m just _impatient_ ,” Potter said and crossed the room in confident steps, throwing his jacket in the direction of the sofa in the process.

 

“So you broke the law because you’re horny?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Potter said, full of intent and pent-up energy. He then backed Draco against the nearest wall and kissed him. It was as though someone had released a thousand butterflies in Draco’s stomach; he felt the excitement in his middle, his fingertips, his toes. He’d imagined more dancing around each other, maybe Potter offering him another drink - not Potter kissing him the second he got the chance.

 

Potter was a good kisser, making Draco’s breath stutter in no time by swiping his tongue against Draco’s lips, his teeth chasing Draco’s lower lips and gently biting. There was no buildup, it was simple, straight up snogging. Potter’s palms cupped Draco’s cheeks, his thumbs caressing his jaw and throat. Draco was _floored_ by the possessiveness he felt int Potter’s kisses and suddenly felt dizzy.

 

Draco knew this would be the only time he’d ever get to admire Potter like this, so he, after a small moment of hesitation, decided to hold nothing back. He put his hands on Potter’s chest and slipped his fingers under his shirt to feel the muscles there. God, Potter was so fucking _fit_ it was unfair. Of course, he spent more time running around after suspects and dark wizards, but Draco just knew he’d never get the same results even if he tried.

 

Potter made an approving sound and placed his leg forward, between Draco’s leg. _Yes_ , Draco thought, _that was smart._ Shamelessly, he rubbed himself against Potter’s big thigh and tried not to think about how many times he’d imagined riding Potter like this.

 

Potter made an annoyed sound and stopped kissing Draco for a moment to take Draco’s scarf off, letting it drop next to their feet.

 

Potter kissed his way down Draco’s neck. He opened Draco’s coat and let it join his scarf on the floor. Draco squirmed and let out a needy sound that could only be described as a whine. He didn’t even care that he sounded like that nor that his jacket had cost him a fortune and was now in a bundle next to their snowy, wet shoes on the floor.

 

“God,” Draco whispered when Potter sank his teeth into Draco’s neck. “Yes, you may do that.”

 

“I _may_?” Potter snorted but did exactly as requested, anyway. Draco’s cock jumped against his zipper and he squirmed against Potter’s thigh. Potter then lifted his leg the tiniest bit, then yanked Draco further against his thigh. A surprised sound left Draco's lips. This was exactly what he’d been dreaming about, only letting his mind chase those fantasies when he was sleep-deprived and alone in his bed at night. Being pressed against a wall, Potter’s bigger frame covering his, hot breath in his neck and a promising hardness rubbing against him.

 

“Off,” Draco managed to say even though Potter was doing an impressive job turning Draco’s neck blue and red. He pushed Potter away, forcefully, and the look Potter gave him because of that was scorchingly hot. “Take your clothes off,” Draco elaborated.

 

“Yeah, got that”, Potter said with an amused smile. That made Draco’s fingers slip while trying to unbutton his own shirt because in his daydreams he’d never dreamed about Potter smiling at him. It was unexpected and exhilarating.

 

With one swift yank Potter took off his jumper and Draco got a little woozy at the sight of him in a white button-up that was maybe a size too small for him. It didn’t bother Draco in the least.

 

Potter noticed Draco admiring him and grinned, cheeks flushed, before he unbuttoned his shirt speedily. Draco still lingered on his own buttons and so after Potter shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, he gently batted Draco’s hands off and finished undressing Draco’s upper half.

 

“Must I do all the work?” He asked, smiling against Draco’s neck. He reached Draco’s belt and opened it, unceremoniously shoving his jeans halfway down his thighs.

 

“You were supposed to undress yourself first,” Draco complained breathlessly. Potter’s hands were cupping his arse, his clothed cock rubbing against Draco’s.

 

“I need to see you naked,” Potter said. “Been thinking about that for _ages_.”

 

Lust hit Draco so hard he could’ve might as well fallen sideways into the floor if it weren’t for Potter who kept pushing him against the wall, keeping him upright.

 

“Yeah?” Draco encouraged Potter to continue because _oh, please._  He craved to hear that Potter had noticed him, had acknowledged him, thought about him.

 

“Yes,” Potter nodded his head, kissing Draco’s jaw before kissing him on the mouth again, big palms cupping Draco’s chin. “Always so put together. You’re so pale, Malfoy. I can’t wait to mess you up,” he mumbled against Draco’s mouth.

 

If Draco did something as embarrassing as whimper, Potter’s kisses swallowed the sound.

 

Draco’s cock was already leaking against his stomach, the rough denim of Potter’s jeans rubbing against it. Draco couldn’t stand it - he would come like this if they continued. And so, he pushed Potter away again, more forcefully than before. Potter only stumbled a little and lifted an amused brow.

 

“You’re a handful, did you know?” He huffed, panting heavily.

 

“Take your fucking clothes off,” Draco said again, already shoving his own pants down his legs, kicking them away, stumbling just a little bit as he tried to take his shoes off at the same time.

 

This time, Potter complied without a word. He only smiled and opened his belt and unzipped himself, eyes never leaving Draco. Draco wasn’t looking at Potter’s eyes, though, his gaze locked on the erotic sight playing before his eyes. He’d imagined this so, so many times; Potter, without a shirt on, slowly undressing himself in front of Draco, hard stomach muscles quivering from arousal.

 

Draco sank a little lower on the wall, biting his lip. Potter let his jeans and boxers drop to the floor. He dropped out of them and kicked them from his feet along with his boots. His cock jumped under Draco’s scrutiny.

 

“I think it likes me,” he said to Potter, dryly.

 

“Well, can you blame me?” Potter laughed easily. “Also, don’t talk about my cock in third person. It’s creepy.”

 

Draco only smirked and his gaze dropped lower again.

 

“And stop staring at it, you're making me nervous!”

 

“ ‘It?’ ” Draco teased. He lifted his hand, as gracefully as he could, to his neck. Then he ran his forefinger to his collarbone, and there to his chest and stomach. Potter’s hungry gaze followed his finger. Draco saw his eyes flicker on Draco’s chest. Draco knew what he saw there: faint, silvery scars scattered across it, placed there by Potter himself. And Draco’s arm - stained with a fading mark. Draco felt suddenly self-conscious, uncomfortable and overwhelmed like someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water on him. Had Potter, in his lust, forgotten who Draco had been in the past? Was he having second thoughts?

 

Draco’s back straightened and his heart made an uncomfortable lurch in his chest. The memories of sixth year hadn’t probably crossed Potter’s head in a while time. Draco didn’t _want_ him thinking about the past, didn’t want to be someone who reminded him of all the horrible things that had happened. He wanted Potter to want him simply for who he was _now_.

 

“It - my cock. Me,” Potter corrected. He took a breath and his smirk returned, as radiant and warm as before.

 

“Mm,” Draco agreed. Suddenly, he felt more clear-headed and nervous than a moment ago. He shouldn’t have put himself in such a vulnerable position.  “Better not make you nervous. You might lose your performance.”

 

Potter laughed, unbothered, like he’d never do anything as pedestrian as have anything affect his _skills_. He walked to Draco again, kissing him soundly. “Now, stop pushing me away, okay?”

 

“I wasn’t done looking,” Draco admitted between kisses, forcefully pushing his gloomy thoughts away from his mind.

 

He knew that he’d keep on bantering with Potter and kissing him if Potter let him, and then Draco would become _affectionate_ and start wanting something else from Potter. Something akin to validation, respect.

 

He didn’t want to feel like that tonight, so he made a decision; he dropped to his knees in front of Potter, sliding down the wall.

 

Potter gasped in shock. “Malfoy, you don’t have to -”

 

Draco shut him up by taking his cock in his hand. This had nothing to do with obligation and everything to do with how often Draco had dreamed about being on knees and sucking Potter dry, until that crease between his eyes he so often wore at work smoothened out in pleasure.

 

Potter’s cock was perfect - just like every part of him. It was infuriating. Curved slightly up and left, just the right size and fucking _pretty_. A little moisture had gathered in the head and Draco swiped it off with his thumb. Potter made a tiny sound and slapped his palms to the wall for support.

 

“Stop _staring_ ,” Potter moaned and wiggled his hips. Draco knew he wanted to push his hips forward, guiding his cock between Draco’s lips.

 

Seeing Potter frustrated was fun (Draco had felt frustrated by Potter from the day he’d signed up for the Auror program - it was about time Potter felt the same) but Draco was running out of patience, himself. He promptly licked the head of Potter’s cock, feeling it jump against his lips. Potter made a whimpering sound so Draco did it again. And again.

 

Potter breathed heavily, gasping a breath every time Draco’s wet tongue touched the head of his cock. He swirled his tongue around it and dipped it into the slit. Potter’s hips shot forward a few inches, and he cursed.

 

Fine, so maybe Draco _did_ have the patience to tease Potter just a little bit more. He moved his hand up and down Potter’s shaft but did nothing to take him further into his mouth. He kept touching his lips to the head of it, drawing lazy circles.

 

Draco looked up only to find Potter already staring at him, mouth open, eyes wild. Draco flushed under the gaze. He knew he’d only get this one night with Potter and he had no right to feel jealous, but he was going to make sure Potter was going to remember _Draco_ the next time he’d have sex with someone. Without taking his eyes of Potter’s eyes, he took the head into his mouth and sucked.

 

“Ah, fuck,” Potter cursed and dropped his head back for a moment. Potter’s cock was red hot against Draco’s lips. A part of Draco wanted to make Potter finish like this, messily into Draco’s mouth, shuddering and swearing.

 

Draco let Potter’s cock slide from his mouth and resumed to licking it, curious to know what would make Potter snap and take charge, or would he simply let Draco tease him until -

 

“That’s quite enough of that,” Potter interrupted Draco’s intentions through gritted teeth. He took a grasp of Draco’s hair and pushed his cock between Draco’s lips.

 

Draco couldn’t help it. He moaned, shivers travelling down his back.

 

“Yes?” Potter asked. He was panting again. Draco hummed around his cock and took more of him in his mouth, hoping Potter would take the hint.

 

“You like this?” Potter asked, again. Draco would’ve huffed  if it weren’t for the cock in his mouth so he just settled for raising one disbelieving eyebrow. “When I feed you my cock?”

 

 _Christ_. Draco’s own cock throbbed agonisingly. He knew that he’d come in less than ten seconds if he touched himself. Potter’s words were making Draco’s whole head ring in static noise and heart thump in his chest. He moaned affirmingly, hoping Potter would grip his hair tighter.

 

He didn’t. He let go of Draco’s hair and ran his fingers through it, moving the strands that had fallen before Draco’s eyes from his forehead and then left his palm on the back of Draco’s head - to support himself or Draco, he couldn’t say.

 

Draco let his eyes close, memorising what it felt to have Harry Potter’s cock in his mouth so that he could always return to this memory. He let Potter thrust into his mouth. Potter didn’t push far, acting like a complete gentleman with keeping his movements controlled and light even though his thighs were shaking from the effort. Draco didn’t have the courage to ask him to just fuck his mouth until his throat was sore, but he tried his best to convey it every other way; moaning encouragingly when Potter thrusted forward, palms finding Potter’s buttocks and pulling him forward, breathing heavily when Potter pulled out, letting a string of spit connect his mouth and Potter’s cock.

 

Draco looked up again, connecting his eyes to Potter’s.

 

Potter made a distressed sound. “Up, get up,” he said, urgent.

 

Draco winced at his sore knees as he rose, but his discomfort was quickly forgotten when Potter licked his way into Draco’s mouth, dirty and hot. Draco moaned - the taste of Potter’s precum lingered on both of their lips, and it was _filthy_. Potter couldn’t seem to stop touching him, running his hands up and down Draco’s chest, touching his collarbones, nipples, cock and thighs. Draco wound his fingers into Potter’s hair and twisted painfully to make sure Potter wouldn’t stop kissing him.

 

“You okay with fucking?” Potter panted between kisses. His eyes searched Draco’s unfocused ones.

 

Draco scowled. “Potter, I wouldn’t _be_ here if I wasn’t okay with it. Why the hell did you think I got on my knees for you just n-”

 

Potter spun him around and slammed his chest into the wall.  “I meant,” he said, voice close to a growl, ”can I fuck you?”

 

Draco wanted to think of something witty to say, but he felt quite disoriented by Potter’s display of strength, so he just said: “ _Yes_.”

 

“ _Accio lube_ ,” Potter said and a second later something broke, falling to the floor,  and a bottle of lube hit Potter in the chest with a loud thump.

 

“What the hell did you break?” Draco panted as Potter uncapped the bottle.

 

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Potter muttered, not seeming at all bothered that his magic had been so uncontrollable that he’d broken something. The pads of his fingers then found Draco’s hole and, well, suddenly Draco wasn’t bothered by it either.

 

Draco shifted his legs wider apart and shivered. It had been so long since he’d had someone else touch him like this. His own fingers were nothing like Potter’s thicker ones. They kept probing Draco’s crack, spreading the lube around, rubbing at the sensitive skin. Draco shivered.

 

“Your fucking _arse_ ,” Potter sighed against Draco’s neck, panting. “You’re unreal - every part of you.”

 

Draco whined and wiggled his arse backwards. For a convenient pity fuck, Potter was astonishingly caring and talkative. Like he’d wanted this to happen.

 

Draco pushed the thought away. “I’m very much real, Potter, and currently squished against your living room wall, butt naked. I’d appreciate it a lot more if you would just actually _do_ -”

 

Potter pushed his finger inside Draco. “You’re demanding,” he observed  as he moved his finger in and out of Draco in a slow pace, stretching his hole by twisting his finger at the rim every time he pulled out. Draco had trouble getting enough oxygen.

 

“How is that news to you?” He managed to say just before Potter slid his middle finger alongside the other, making Draco gasp and curse at the sudden burn.

 

“It isn’t,” Potter laughed. He created some distance between them, no longer squishing Draco against the wall, and Draco instantly missed the back-to-chest contact. Potter’s breath hitched and his other palm spread Draco’s buttocks apart to see him better. Draco’s cheeks heated up and he was suddenly glad he didn’t have to look Potter in the eye.

 

“God, would you look at that,” Potter said quietly, as if he was talking to himself. Draco was ready to melt in a puddle on the floor at Potter’s praise.

 

“More,” he gasped, overwhelmed.

 

“You’re so tight.”

 

“ _Now._ ”

 

There was a pause, and then Potter’s wet fingers returned to Draco’s ass, this time pushing three in. Draco gasped and tensed around the fingers - he was far too tight for it to be comfortable. But the burning feeling made him feel fuzzy and unfocused, pleasure filling his senses. He could come like this, he realised. On Potter’s fingers, not even a hand on his cock. Just Potter’s thick fingers forcing their way in, steady and sure. He imagined himself convulsing around them, thought about Potter remembering the phantom memory of Draco falling apart on his fingers the next time he’d so much as _look_ at his hand.

 

“Fuck me,” he said, not caring that he sounded desperate. He was, and whatever self-control he had left was slipping away with every push of Potter’s fingers.

 

“You’re not ready yet,” Potter said, mouth returning to Draco’s ear. His hot breath and tongue made Draco squirm, the spot he licked too sensitive for contact.

 

“Push your cock in me,” he said and wiggled his ass against Potter’s fingers and cock that was leaving streaks of precome on Draco’s cheeks. “Or I’ll fucking leave.”

 

Potter cursed in colourful detail and replaced his fingers with the head of his cock.  “You know,” he panted as he started to push in, _slowly_. Draco’s breath got caught up in his throat; the head felt too big against his hole. Potter pulled back, then tried again, this time going deeper but instantly pulling back when Draco didn’t let him in. “I had this all planned out. I was going to kiss you all over, then take my time with you in a proper bed.”

 

The head of his cock popped in, and they both moaned. Draco’s back was dripping with sweat and his palms were slipping from the wall. There really wasn’t anything to hold on to, but he scrambled for a grip anyway. Potter’s words made his arousal worse,  turning the fire inside him into this unbearable, intense pleasure. He couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t move.

 

“But then you have to say things like _that_ ,” Potter muttered, pulling out again before pushing in, forcing Draco’s rim to accommodate the thick head. This time he pushed further until he was about half-way in. Or so Draco suspected.  He really wasn’t good at numbers at moments like these. “And look like _that_ ,” Potter continued, accusingly, “and suddenly it’s like I own no self-control.”

 

“Well, zero times zero is z-zero,” Draco stuttered. That earned him a slap on the buttock and Potter yanking at his hair, forcing his head back. Draco gasped. He _knew_ there had been a reason why he’d decided to grow out his hair.

 

“What was that?” Potter asked sweetly. Draco had his eyes closed but he could tell Potter was smiling. He pulled out again and Draco swore he was going to faint soon.

 

“You’ve never had self-control to begin with,” Draco said, summoning some snark into his voice through the haze of arousal. “You can’t lose something you don’t _have."_

 

Another precise slap, this time on the other buttock.

 

“Wanna rephrase?” Potter asked, pulling Draco’s head even further back, forcing him to bend his back if he wanted to keep his hair. He pulled out, cock hovering on Draco’s hole.

 

“No,” Draco huffed, enjoying pushing Potter’s buttons far too much. Even if it meant his hole had to clench around nothing for a few seconds longer.

 

“You’re just trying to coax me into making you regret for acting like an insolent brat.”  

 

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Draco hissed when another slap jiggled his cheek. “Do that again.”

 

Potter breathed out an amused breath and slapped him again, just for show. Then, with no warning or teasing, pushed his cock back in. Slow and steady, until Draco could feel his pubic hair against his ass.

 

“God, oh god,” Draco swore and clenched around the length. He felt stretched out to the point of pain and it was _glorious_. Potter felt too big inside him, hot and unyielding.  He kept his pace slow, pulling almost completely out before pushing back in, making a circular motion with his hips that made black spots dance in the corners of Draco’s eyes when his cock grazed over Draco’s prostate.

 

If Potter answered Draco something, he didn’t hear it. He was too busy feeling like he was going to burst into flames any second now, gulping in air but never quite getting enough. Potter slapped his ass a few more times but his heart wasn’t in it; neither was Draco’s - even though the heat on his buttocks was a welcome feeling.

 

Potter finally let go of Draco’s hair. Draco, having balanced himself between Potter’s cock and his hand in his hair, almost hit his nose on the wall.

 

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Potter mumbled and gathered Draco in his arms again, one hand splayed over his chest, the other finding his cock. Draco trashed in his arms, pushing his hips towards Potter’s touch and then back on his cock, feeling conflicted between the two points of pleasure. Luckily, Potter figured out a rhythm that worked; with every thrust of his hips, Potter stroked down Draco’s cock, giving him no room for wiggling away from the sensations. It worked well for Draco.

 

Too well, in fact.

 

“That feels good,” he said, shocked and shivering. His cock was sensitive and slick with precome and Potter’s big palm felt good around him. Especially when, with every stroke, he swiped his thumb over the sensitive head, pressing lightly. _Fuck._ “Keep doing that, please.”

 

Potter’s movements didn’t falter at all. Instead, he put his back into it, tightening his fist around Draco’s cock, shoving his dick inside Draco harder. He was moaning into Draco’s neck, and if Draco weren’t currently spiraling towards a rather spectacular orgasm he would have appreciated the broken tone in Potter’s voice.

 

Potter’s other hand found Draco’s throat and shaky fingers touched his jaw, his chin, lips. Draco licked Potter’s fingers and then bit the pad of his thumb. Potter murmured something Draco didn’t comprehend and then turned Draco’s head to the side enough to kiss him. The angle was more than awkward and they mostly licked into each other’s mouths, nipping each other’s lips and exchanging saliva.

 

It was Potter’s pants against Draco’s lips and his hand possessively resting on Draco’s throat what did it for him. Surprising even himself from suddenly being _there_ , he tensed and his eyes rolled back in his head, arse clenching around Potter’s thick length.

 

“You’re coming,” Potter stated, dumbly. “You’re coming?”

 

Draco had never laughed his way into an orgasm, but he guessed there was a first time for everything as he let out an uncontrollable puff of laughter just as his senses got slammed with the overwhelming feeling of coming on Potter’s cock. His brain short-circuited around the pleasure and was sure that he let a hopeless moan of  “oh, god, Potter, _Potter_ ” through his lips but he really, really couldn’t care. Potter kissed him through his orgasm, swallowing Draco’s moans and cursing, his own hips stuttering.

 

For what felt like forever, Draco kept shuddering and moaning, clenching on Potter’s cock, his own swaying heavy between his legs. Potter shoved himself in in _in_ until he paused with stuttering hips, falling quiet. Both hands grabbing Draco’s hips, he finished with a surprised shout.

 

Draco could do nothing than press his forehead against the wall, trying to calm his racing heart, letting Potter shudder through his own orgasm. In a moment of pure bliss, unable to stop himself from acting like a fool, he reached his hand behind him and stroked Potter’s flank, touch light and  gentle.

 

His stomach and thighs were still tingling from the force of his orgasm, and a moment later Potter rested his forehead on Draco’s shoulder, sounding even more out of breath than him.

 

They stayed like that until their breaths were in sync, sweat on their skin cooled. Potter shifted his hips and let his spent cock slip from inside him. Draco grimaced at the sticky, uncomfortable feeling, and Potter shivered.

 

He just had sex with Potter.

 

It was a bit difficult to grasp the concept, and not only because Draco’s brains seemed to have leaked out from his cock just a moment ago. He just had sex with Harry Potter, and it was _phenomenal_. Potter, who had been the unreachable subject of Draco’s wet dreams for a much longer time Draco liked to admit. And of course Potter had to be even better than he’d imagined - and that was a lot, considering that Draco’s lust-addled brain often described Potter as some damned sex god.

 

“You should be in my team,” Potter said, apropos of nothing, breaking the silence. Draco huffed and subtly tried to check whether his spine was still working, because _ow_.

 

“Fuck no,” he said and turned around, heavily leaning on the wall behind his back for support. He momentarily lost his focus as he saw the sight of Potter standing in front of him. He was flushed and out of breath. The blush on his face reached his chest, and his hair clung to his sweaty forehead, a few strands having been escaped from the messy, messy bun his hair was in. The fire - still cracking in the corner of the room - made his skin glow in soft, golden hues.

 

“And why not?” Potter said and placed his hands on the wall on either side of Draco’s head. He was leaning for support, looking like he was about to keel over, and Draco couldn’t blame him. Draco broke their eye contact to flick his gaze down, just because he could. Potter’s cock  was red and spent, swollen and glistening. Draco’s insides made a flip and he wondered whether they were already getting to that place after sex - that awkward place where they’d start gathering their clothes from the floor in shame, desperately trying to think of something to say to make the situation less uncomfortable.

 

He tried his luck and touched Potter’s cock, making him jump. “Shit! Malfoy,” Potter said, voice close to what Draco thought was a whine. He kept his touch light, fingertips ghosting over his spent balls and  soft flesh.

 

“Well, for one, I deserve my own team,” Draco said, stomach making flips at the thought that a minute ago, that cock had been inside him. “And secondly - having sex with a coworker - or worse, a superior Auror - is sort of forbidden.”

 

Potter dropped his head to Draco’s shoulder, mouthing and licking away the sweat gathered there. Draco shivered, still playing with Potter’s cock.

 

“It is?”

 

“I’ve checked,” Draco admitted.

 

“You have?”

 

“Yeah. Power imbalance, moral grey area, abuse of power, et cetera,” he explained, eyes closing involuntarily when Potter licked at the shell of his ear.

 

“Have I been, then?” Potter asked, voice low in Draco’s ear. Now, he took his other hand off the wall and placed it on Draco’s cock. Draco bucked forward and then tried to back away. He was _so_ sensitive, but the idea of Potter wanting to touch him like this even after fucking him was too good to pass on.

 

“You - what?” He panted. He wasn’t  sure whether he was ready for another round, but if Potter kept talking into his ear like that, touching him with sure movements, he would soon be.

 

“Using my position of power in my advantage?” Potter inquired softly.

 

“Potter,” Draco said heatedly. He knew Potter was teasing, but he couldn’t help it.  “I’d fuck you even if you were a homeless beggar somewhere in Knockturn Alley. Trust me, this has _nothing_ to do with your sodding position.”

 

Potter stilled, and Draco instantly regretted what he said. It was too telling, too close to the truth he didn’t even want to admit himself. Potter didn’t answer. Instead he smiled and kissed Draco sweetly like he’d said the exact correct thing.

 

***

 

“Are you really going to quit your job?” Draco asked, after. Potter had Apparated them into his bedroom and Draco had promptly fallen face down onto Potter's bed, throwing the duvet to cover his lower parts. They'd made each other come again, face to face, kissing, gasping and swearing into each other’s mouths. Now Draco was officially worn out.

 

Potter was looking at him, amused, before he slipped under the covers as well.

 

“Maybe. Probably not”, he said. “Sometimes I just seem to get frustrated with life, I guess.”

 

“Maybe you should take some time off,” Draco suggested, closing his eyes. He didn't really know how to handle Potter's current crisis - it wasn't even his place to say anything.

 

“Mm,” Potter hummed noncommittally and yawned. His fingers found the nape of Draco’s neck, stroking it gently. Draco yawned, too, and breathed in the comforting smell of cotton of Potter’s pillow. It was soft, and Draco realised that he felt dizzy with exhaustion. He’d been working long hours just before Christmas, determined to make his paperwork disappear before his week’s vacation, starting from Boxing Day. He’d eaten most of his meals in the Ministry cafeteria, purposely choosing sandwiches he knew were being made every day and didn't include anything potentially rotten. Dinner with Potter had been a first warm meal he'd had in days.

 

Long days and a poor diet combined with tonight's good food and some alcohol and then having gotten shagged within every inch of his life made Draco’s eyes droop. He tried his best to fight against it.

 

“You can sleep if you want”, Potter said.

 

“No, I'm fine.”

 

“You look exhausted. I'm flattered, by the way, having fucked you into oblivion.”

 

Draco snorted. “Oh, for that you have to work harder.” He then yawned soundly, proving Potter's point quite right. “A good effort for your first time, though.”

 

“Nice try, Malfoy. I was there with you, remember? Didn’t hear you complaining.”

 

“Fine,” Draco admitted. The urge to banter with Potter was a big one, but he was honestly too worn out to summon the energy for it now.  “I liked when you got rough with me”, he added as an afterthought.

 

“I noticed”, Potter murmured and kissed Draco's bare shoulder.

 

It felt intimate. Far too intimate. Draco closed his eyes, trying to will himself to get up, wish Potter a merry Christmas, and leave.

 

But it _was_ Christmas, wasn’t it? And if Potter didn’t seem anxious for Draco to leave - which he didn’t for he was peppering more kisses on Draco’s skin - maybe he should allow himself this. As a Christmas present, one night with Potter. The illusion of something more.

 

Potter kept kissing Draco’s shoulder and the nape of his neck. Draco turned his head to one side, giving Potter more room. Potter hummed and pulled the duvet on top of them lower, exposing Draco's back.

 

“I thought you were going to let me sleep,” Draco mumbled, a little light-headed by the butterfly kisses on his neck and spine.

 

“I seem to have changed my mind,” Potter said, then whispered, “turn around.”

 

Draco did.

 

“Has it been so long since your last shag since you need to molest me like this?” Draco asked but kept his hand on Potter's hair to indicate that he didn't actually want him to pull away.

 

“Something like that”, Potter said and gave Draco an unreadable look.

 

Potter kissed his way down Draco, enthusiastic but soft, trying not to overwhelm him.

 

“You should work in a better team”, Potter said, mouth on Draco's navel. It took a few seconds for Draco to realise he was referring to what he'd said earlier in the living room. “Or actually, get a partner to work with.”

 

Draco detested the current structure of the Auror department. Beginner Aurors started their jobs working in a group of four or five people and handled the cases together before they were trusted enough to work alone with another Auror.

 

Draco tried not to think about the fact that he'd been working for roughly two years, and he was _still_ in a team Most Aurors got partnered up after the first year.

 

He knew Potter hated the team system as well. He complained about it, often and loudly, saying that the old way had been more efficient and that they shouldn't ever have taken any example from MACUSA.

 

It wasn’t the same with Potter, though. Because Potter was a team leader, and was getting ahead with his career despite the shitty new organisation structures. 

 

“That would be nice,” Draco said, polite. He didn't want to get in to the reasons why he hadn't been partnered up yet, not even when he'd done his absolute _best_ all this time. Draco felt the familiar tinge of anxiety flash in his chest.

 

Thankfully, Potter seemed to realise that their conversation was over, for he continued kissing Draco's body down, murmuring a few quiet praises.

 

Draco relaxed again under Potter's lips and tongue. He wasn’t looking at Draco, instead focusing on kissing Draco’s hipbones and the tops of his thighs, eyes closed.

 

“Must I remind you that I’m not 19 anymore?” Draco asked when a hopeful kiss was planted on his inner thigh. Hysterically, Draco realised that neither of them had cast a cleaning charm yet.

 

“Did you use to fuck a lot of people thrice in a row when you were?” Potter inquired.

 

Drago tugged at Potter's curls, softly. “You know what I mean.”

 

He considered Potter, who seemed completely content at kissing Draco’s skin like he’d said he’d wanted to do to him, earlier. Potter _shouldn’t_ be content with that, he shouldn’t be spending Christmas night with someone who wasn’t his family nor a friend.

 

“You’re still welcome to be with them, you know,” Draco said gently, after a moment of consideration. Potter had more than enough friends and people who _wanted_ to be friends with him. There was no way he should feel lonely - he had so many people around. 

 

Potter hummed somewhere around Draco’s left knee. “I know,” he murmured and kissed the bone there.  “I’m invited to Christmas lunch tomorrow.”

 

“See? It’s all good,” Draco said and wound his fingers tighter around Potter’s loose curls, eyes drooping shut. It would probably be rude to fall asleep, now.

 

“You should come with me,” Potter said and Draco snorted without opening his eyes.

 

“That was a joke, right?”

 

“Haven’t decided yet.”

 

An unfamiliar feeling settled in Draco’s stomach and he got uncomfortable. He was too tired to analyse it. Hell, he was too _scared_ to.

 

“Make you a deal,” Draco said, squirming when Potter’s fingers tickled his sides. “If we’re having a pity fuck next Christmas too, _then_ I’ll promise to join you for the redheads’ gross family gathering.”

 

He only said it because he _knew_ Potter wouldn’t be here next year. He’d be dating, getting married, living on the other side of the world  - whatever he desired. Potter was not someone who was meant to be still  - right now he was just going through a slump. He definitely wouldn’t be getting drunk with Draco Malfoy and then fucking him against a living room wall ever again, no matter how hard Draco hoped.

 

Draco opened his eyes when Potter took Draco’s hand away from his hair and pressed it against his mouth. He was looking at Draco through his glasses with a weirdly intense look as he gave one precise, close-mouthed to Draco’s knuckles.

 

“Deal."

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to finish this before Christmas but time management isn't my friend so here we are now, lmao. 
> 
> ANYWAY, I'm super nervous to post this because I haven't written drarry that much and it's been a long time since I've even written basically anything. Please, please let me know what you thought! <3 Also, English isn't my first language so feel free to point out any mistakes!
> 
> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/seaworn) and [tumblr](http://dotingdamen.tumblr.com), let's talk <3


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